Every summer my friend and I like to skip rocks.

I walk across the street and knock on the door three times. 

He knows what that knock means and instantly opens the door.

We put on our clunky rain boots and walk down the gravel path heading towards the pond.

There are mosquitos flying about and the grass comes just high enough to where it rubs against our short legs.

We hear the frogs croaking in the water and the birds chirping high in the trees. 

There is no atmosphere in the world as mystical as this creek. 

Our feet ache by the time we reach the pond, but we do not 

care.

The smiles on our faces say it all. 

We carefully choose which rock to skip.

Our eyes scan the ground like hawks looking for prey.

The ideal rock is both flat and smooth like a bar of soap after it has been used many times.

Once we find our rocks, the fun begins. 

We rush into the water with excitement while still keeping our movements limited so the water stays calm.

Once we are ankle deep, the countdown begins.

Five, four, three, two, one, throw!

Plop

Plop

Plop

Plop

Plop.

The two rocks bounce on top of the water until they eventually become out of site. 

The pond leaves ripples that usually fade by the time we find our next rock. 

We go at this for hours at a time until one of our Moms call and want us home.

The sound of the phone ringing feels like an alarm clock waking us up from the best dream.

Suddenly, reality is calling, and we do not want to answer.

The pond is where we are at peace.

Everyday, every summer, we walk down the long windy gravel path. 

Time seems to stop while we are down there, 

And the only thing that matters is how many times our rocks skip.